


Jack's Office

by zellieh



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Absence, Angst, Grief, M/M, Masturbation, Slash, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zellieh/pseuds/zellieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto walked into Jack's office, which looked small and ordinary without Jack in it.  Diminished by his absence, like everything else at Torchwood.  He tidied the stacks of papers desultorily, trying not to move any of them out of place, lifted the pens out of the way as he dusted the desk, and then put them back precisely where they'd been before.  He checked the rubbish bin, as if it might have sprouted rubbish out of a parallel dimension - again - but it was still as empty as it had been this morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack's Office

**Author's Note:**

> In my version of fanon, this takes place several weeks after Jack's departure at the end of Season 1.
> 
> Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/mmom/profile)[**mmom**](http://community.livejournal.com/mmom/) challenge: a fic a day for all of May.  
> **Minor spoilers **for Torchwood's Season 1 finale, and possibly the end of Doctor Who's (new) Season 3.

Ianto walked into Jack's office, which looked small and ordinary without Jack in it. Diminished by his absence, like everything else at Torchwood. He tidied the stacks of papers desultorily, trying not to move any of them out of place, lifted the pens out of the way as he dusted the desk, and then put them back precisely where they'd been before. He checked the rubbish bin, as if it might have sprouted rubbish out of a parallel dimension - again - but it was still as empty as it had been this morning.

Ianto pulled out Jack's chair and wiped it down, gently, carefully, the silence of the empty office space ringing in his ears. Slowly, he leaned down and sniffed at the back of the chair, where Jack's head used to rest when he sprawled back so lazily, but it didn't smell of Jack at all. He closed his eyes. _Freak,_ he thought. _Owen was right - you really are pathetic._ Pulling the chair further out, he let himself sag down into the seat, folded his arms precariously on the edge of the desk, laid his head down onto them, and closed his eyes again. _Jack,_ he thought. _Jack._

Suddenly a phone rang, sharp and shrill, and Ianto jumped up, staring wildly around the office. Empty; he was still alone. Outside Jack's office, distantly, he heard the answerphone kick in: Gwen's voice, calm and kind. 'You've reached the Torchwood Institute. There's no-one available to take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep, and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Thank you.' An endless moment of silence, and Ianto stood frozen in it, hand suspended over the phone on Jack's desk, barely breathing, and then he heard a quiet click as the caller hung up.

No message.

Ianto's hand finally fell onto Jack's phone, and he stared at it blankly, blinking as his fingertips absently traced the cool plastic contours, smooth and artificial against his skin. He clenched his hand into a fist, blinked again, and sighed.

Tired again, he sank back into the chair, picked up his duster and trailed it over whatever clear bits of desk he could reach, then suddenly threw it across the office, watching it skid across the floor and crumple against the wall. _I can't do this,_ he thought. _I can't do this anymore._

He stood up, moving fast, bumped his thigh against Jack's desk and kept going, grabbed Jack's jacket off the hook and pressed his nose into the collar, breathing hard, his breath hitching in his throat. _Jack,_ he thought, _Jack,_ and there it was, muted: brilliantine, gun oil, weevil, spice and musk. _Jack._ Ianto clenched his eyes shut, clutching at Jack's jacket, and slid to the floor, crumpling against the wall, so cold against his back.

_Jack will be fine,_ he thought. _He's with the Doctor; he'll be fine. And he'll come back. He will._ Ianto breathed in Jack's fading scent, hands clenching and unclenching, whiteknuckled as he tried to let go or get a grip, and he wondered when he'd got so bad at lying to himself. He thought of Jack: the way he looked working behind his desk; the way he looked leaning against the desk, smiling; the way he looked leaning over Ianto, flirting...

_Fuck,_ he thought, as he felt his cock harden. _Fuck this - I've had enough._ Sliding further down the wall, he sprawled out aggressively, taking up space. He crumpled Jack's jacket up and put it behind his head, uncaring of any creases, then rolled up his shirtsleeves and unzipped his trousers, pushing everything down, out of his way. He hissed out a shocked breath: the floor felt like ice against his arse, and a cold draught was blowing from somewhere across his half-hard cock. He shivered, and unbuttoned his shirt, thinking _fuck it._

The cool air against his skin gave him goosebumps and pebbled his nipples, his cock wilting a little in his hand. He closed his eyes and thought of Jack, as he licked his palm and started stroking. Jack smiling, Jack teasing, Jack flirting, Jack kissing him, Jack kissing someone else... _No._

Ianto moaned, his rhythm broken, and determinedly thought of Jack propositioning him over coffee, every suggestion more inventive than the last, thought of taking Jack up on all his offers as soon as he got back, christening every room, every piece of furniture, starting with Jack's desk... _Yes..._

Ianto tensed and shivered again, hot and sweaty-cool, stroking faster. Jack in his tight trousers, Jack in his blue shirt, Jack without a shirt, Jack bruised and bleeding... _Fuck, no._ Ianto banged his head against the wall and pounded his fist against the floor. _Fuck! _ He took a deep breath, and relaxed. _He'll be fine, he'll be back...when he gets back..._ Ianto closed his eyes again, let himslf sink into the silence of the empty office, and thought of all the things he wanted to do to Jack, with Jack, all the things he'd never said, all the things he was going to say and do as soon as Jack got back... _Yes..._

Ianto gasped and came and breathed and wiped his eyes, feeling loose and tired and empty. He leaned his head back against the cold wall, Jack's jacket fallen crumpled beside him, the rough bricks catching at his hair, scratching sharp against his scalp, and let his eyes close, just for a moment. Just a moment, before he had to tidy himself up, try and put himself back together, and get on with it. Just one more moment...


End file.
